A Long Lost Memory

Yesterday one of my mentor teachers was telling me a story about his little four-year-old daughter deliberating with herself about sending money from her piggy-bank to the Haitians after watching an ad asking for money on TV. Her parents suggested it, but tried not to push it too hard. Finally she came to the conclusion that she would like to. He said it was the proudest moment of his short fatherhood.

It recalled to mind another intuitive, sweet moment in childhood.

When Jacob was really little--I'm talking like, four or five--he developed a sincere fear of death. I remember him not being able to get to sleep at night because he was so scared he wouldn't wake in the morning. This went on for maybe a few days and finally Mom and Dad tried to help him out with it by talking to him about it. Jacob still wasn't totally soothed though until Sam, who was about seven then, came in and gave this awesome metaphor:

Jake, life is like going outside to play. Mom and Dad send us out to play all day if we want. But sooner or later, it's gonna get dark and it's gonna get cold, and then you'll want to go back inside.

Just goes to show the depth of a little kid. Man, they're creepy that way.